


The Wandering Smith

by VileVenom



Series: Hobbit Ficlets [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VileVenom/pseuds/VileVenom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme Prompt Fill.</p><p>Prompt: AU, Erebor never fell. Thror’s goldsickness is getting worse by the year, and when Thorin tries to speak out against one of his grandfather’s more tyrannical decisions (of which he has been making more and more as his sanity erodes)he is publicly shamed by the cutting of his beard and cast out, with a vague promise that if he ‘redeems himself’ in Thror’s eyes he will be able to return to Erebor.<br/>Thorin goes into exile and spends years as a wandering smith and itinerant labourer until he finds his way to the Shire and meets Bilbo Baggins. They have a romance and settle together, and for a little while Thorin is able to find a degree of happiness, for all that he sorely misses Erebor and his family.<br/>Eventually, however, a group of dwarves arrive in the Shire, led by Gandalf the Grey, in search of their missing prince, as Frerin, the new king, is every bit as gold-mad as his predecessor, if not worse. They are, therefore, rather surprised to find their missing prince working as a blacksmith in a place like the Shire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wandering Smith

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure I filled this the way they wanted, but hey. I tried.

“Your Majesty, please! Reconsider,” Thorin pleaded from his position, knelt before the throne of the King. He looked to his brother for help, reassurance, something, anything, only to have Frerin turn his gaze away. “You can’t-“

“I can, I will, and I have! Your words and actions are beginning to seem treasonous, Thorin. I would watch where you tread,” Thror barked, rising from his seat to glare down at his grandchild. “Remove him from my sight.”

Thorin stared in disbelief up at his grandfather as two guards moved down from the dais and began to pull him up from the floor and drag him out of the throne hall. He came back to himself before they managed to drag him five feet, thrashing in their grip and snarling like a caged beast. “YOU CANNOT!” he shouted at the King who paused at the yell.

“Are you threatening me?” the King asked, taking a step down from the throne.

Thorin balked, staring open mouthed at his grandfather for a moment, before snapping. “Of course not! A threatening word has not left my lips! I am simply asking you to reconsider your ruling. The lives it will be affecting are many, and it will only serve to make them-“

“ENOUGH! I have heard quite enough of your posturing, Thorin. I am the King, and what I say is absolute. Do you not think I have considered my options, and decided that this was the best course of action?”

“You only find it the best course of action because it serves YOU best! For the majority of our people, it will mean poverty!”

Thror sneered at Thorin, lifting a hand to stop a third guard from moving away from the throne towards the prince. “You have spoken far outside of your position, Thorin,” the King said, stepping down from the throne and slowly approaching the prince. “You are speaking against your King, and making a mockery of his ruling in front of his subjects. I would most certainly call that treasonous. So, for this, I regretfully banish you from Erebor. You have proven to be a threat to my kingdom, and as such, you are not to return to this mountain, even during the last of your days.”

Thorin froze in the grip of the guards who were the only support he had as his knees gave way. He sputtered, staring up at his grandfather in shock, not recognizing the dwarf that stood before him as the kind soul who consoled him as a child. “You don’t mean this,” he murmured, pushing himself up and surging forward, the guards holding him steadfast, “You couldn’t possibly means this!”

“And for further shaming the house of Durin, I will require a token. Cut off his beard.”

Thorin roared and thrashed against the iron grip of the guards, freezing only when a sharp silver blade was brandished by the King and held near his neck. “Please. Grandfather,” he whispered, flinching at the cruel sneer given to him by the King as his beard was sheered from his chin.

“Get him a pony, and enough supplies to get him to the woods, in the least. I want him gone by nightfall,” the King stated, turning on his heel and tossing Thorin’s severed beard into the fire of a torch as he passed it by on his way back to the throne. He paid no heard to Thorin’s screams as he was dragged from the hall.

~

Nearly fifty years passed, as Thorin wandered Middle-Earth like a ghost. He kept his beard shaved short, in reminder of what his grandfather had done to him, and never stayed in one village or township long enough to properly establish any sort of roots. He could never bring himself to attach himself to anyone after the harsh betrayal of his family. Happenstance, and perhaps a little luck, one day brought Thorin to the well hidden corner of Middle-Earth, known to few as ‘The Shire’.

Few dwarves ventured so far northeast of the Blue Mountains to be bothered traveling to the land of the halflings, let alone care that it was even there. All the better, in Thorin’s opinion, as he wandered through Bree, nodding to any Hobbit who paused to stare at him. It wasn’t exactly as if he could be offended. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was unused to odd looks by then.

He finally came to rest at an inn marked ‘The Green Dragon’. Come the next sun rise, he would begin searching for blacksmiths in the area, and see what he could find for work. At best, he could get an apprenticeship at a local smith, and at worst he would wind up a stable boy or a kitchen hand. In any case, he would be grateful for the work, since he’d had found little to none between Bruinen and Bree.

He was just about to head into the inn after settling his pony at the stables when he was very nearly run over by a Hobbit who was apparently in somewhat of a hurry.

“Oh, goodness!” the hobbit who’d tried to run him down was gasping, fumbling back to his feet as Thorin brushed dirt off his admittedly already filthy pants. “I am so very, very sorry!”

Thorin finished wiping what grim he could off of his pants, before lifting his gaze to the panicking hobbit, offering a faint hint of a smile for the other’s worry. “Worry not,” he rumbled, “I am unharmed. Are you quite all right, though? I’m not exactly the softest of creatures to run into.”

The hobbit huffed and flapped his hands in the air, before scooping up the basket he’d apparently been carrying before slamming into the dwarf. “Oh, no, no. I’m perfectly all right. Even if I wasn’t, is it really any concern of yours? I was the one to run into you, after all! My well being, in such a case, isn’t exactly paramount.”

The dwarf chuckled and gave the hobbit a short pat on the shoulder. “It certainly is. Even if you, perhaps, were the one at fault, I am still the less likely one to be seriously injured in such an occurrence. In any case, master hobbit, I do hope you are well, and not hindered in time for whatever you were off to do.”

“Of course, of course. Honestly, I am fine, but, oh goodness!” the hobbit pulled a watch from his pocket and all but boggled at the time it read, “the time! Yes, I was just on my way to a family party, and now I’m even more late than before! Ugh…But, oh!” The hobbit stepped in front of Thorin as he moved to head into the inn at last to go find his bed. The dwarf sighed and let his shoulders slump as the hobbit waylaid him once more. “I do apologize, master dwarf, but I am inclined to make amends for my rudeness and lack of a proper apology for such at this present time. As such, I am hoping you will accept an invitation for lunch at Bag End tomorrow. Noon, sharp! I will be expecting to see you there,” the hobbit said, a lopsided sort of smile on his face, “The innkeeper will have directions, should you need them.”

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, since he really didn’t need the apology over something so trivial, but the hobbit was already off down the road, calling the occasional hurried greeting to those he passed on his way. The dwarf sighed and rolled his shoulders, before shrugging and heading inside to find his room. He could deal with the odd inhabitants of the Shire tomorrow, when he had more of his wits about him.

~

“Your home is far more difficult to find than the inn keeper let on.”

The hobbit in the doorway blinked up at Thorin, before bursting into a short fit of laughter and gesturing for the other to enter.

“I am sorry for that,” the hobbit said, shutting the door for Thorin, and offering his arm to take the dwarf’s cloak, “Though, there is not much to be done for it. My home is where it is, and it simply can’t be moved. How long have you been here, master dwarf?”

“I had only just arrived when you had run into me,” Thorin said, handing off his cloak, “And for the record, my name is Thorin. At your service.” The hobbit hid a smile behind his hand as Thorin bowed, the hobbit quickly returning one of his own as the dwarf stood back up.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”

Thorin smiled at the hobbit, nodding slightly as he was lead further into the smial.

~

“Welcome home!” Bilbo chirped from the kitchen at the sound of the front door closing.

“Thank you,” a low voice returned, the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor echoing down the hallway, before footsteps headed in that direction. “Whatever it is your making, I hope you made plenty. I’m starved.”

Bilbo chuckled, spooning a heaping help of stew into two bowls and placing them on the already overfull kitchen table. “Don’t I always make more than enough to fill your belly?” he asked, grinning as Thorin made his way into the kitchen, and placed a quick kiss on the Hobbit’s cheek.

“It is true. I always forget how much food you hobbits make and eat in a day. Something I’m sure I’ll never get used to,” Thorin hummed, before inhaling deeply and making an appreciative noise at the scents filling the air.

“In time, perhaps you will,” Bilbo said with a soft smile, gesturing for Thorin to sit, before taking a seat of his own.

The two had only been courting for a few months, yet. Thorin had settled into the Shire fairly well, finding a job at the smith’s almost immediately, given that dwarven metal work was renowned through Middle-Earth as the very best. He’d made fast friends with Bilbo, and a few other members of the Took and Brandybuck clans, and procured permanent lodgings at the Green Dragon after a few weeks of steady work. Thorin had originally planned to only stay in Hobbiton until he’d had enough to travel further towards the Blue Mountains, but something about the friendly chatter of the hobbits, and the quite calmness had called to him to stay. Three months passed, then five, then a year, and he couldn’t help but find himself just a little bit in love with not only the place he’d found himself, but with the first hobbit he’d properly exchanged words with.

“In time, perhaps,” Thorin echoed with a smile, before digging into his food. It was the first time since he’d left Erebor that he’d truly felt at home. Like he could finally settle, and stay here until the end of his days.

~

“Who could that be at this hour?” Bilbo grumbled from his spot on the lounge, his feet settled in Thorin’s lap as the two read in amiable silence. Another knock sounded loudly on the wood of the front door, making the hobbit groan, and the dwarf the set his book on the side table.

“I’ll get it,” Thorin murmured, leaning over his hobbit to press a quick kiss to his lips, before displacing Bilbo’s feet and rising from his seat. He settled a disapproving frown on his face as he walked through the smial towards the front door, the one he knew frightened the neighbors, but for some reason most of the children found hilarious.

He opened the door with a quick word of discontent on his tongue, only to have his jaw shut with an audible click when he saw who was on the front porch.

“Uncle Thorin?” one of the dwarves on the front porch asked tentatively, his messy, fly away brown hair making him look even younger than he probably was.

“You sound like a lost orphan, Kili. You were just supposed to ask if he was Thorin, first,” the other dwarf, this one a blonde, groused, elbowing the brunette in the ribs.

“Children, please,” a tall, grey robbed man said from behind the two dwarves, ducking down to smile at Thorin. “May we come in?”

“Thorin? Who is it, then?” Bilbo called from the hallway, wandering out to see who could have waylaid his dwarf for so long. He paused in the archway, blinking owlishly at the three taking up the front porch. “Gandalf?”

“You know this…man?” Thorin asked, glancing between Bilbo and the grey robbed stranger.

“Wizard, actually,” Gandalf interrupted, “And it just so happens that master Bilbo and I go quite a ways back. And as it also so happens, it is getting quite late, and we are attracting quite a bit of attention, all gathered on your porch like this, so if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Please, do come in,” Bilbo squeaked from behind Thorin, tugging on the back of the dwarf’s tunic to get him to move out of the way so the three could enter. He then shuffled towards the kitchen, calling a quick, “I’ll make some tea! Thorin, show them to the sitting room,” before disappearing.

“Well,” Thorin grumbled, looking quickly towards the hallway Bilbo had vanished down, before turning a cautiously curious look towards the other three, “You heard him. Follow me.”

He lead the three into the sitting room, making sure to scoop up his and Bilbo’s respective reading material and mark the pages, before setting the books on a shelf. He paused as his gaze ran over the one year anniversary gift he’d forged for Bilbo, a simple set of silver and bronze bookends, making his heart ache at the fact that his past was now coming to potentially tear apart the future he’d so hoped for.

“So,” Thorin rumbled as he sat in a chair across from the two dwarves taking up his lounge, and the wizard sat precariously on a chair that was obviously far too small for him, “Out with it, then.”

Gandalf simply seemed to relax at Thorin’s commanding tone, while the two young dwarves exchanged worried glances.

“My name is Fili-“

“And mine Kili-“

“At your service,” the two finished together, sharing a quick smile, before they both looked worriedly back at Thorin.

“Our mother sent us to find you,” Fili continued on his own, his brother fidgeting beside him, “King Thror died about five years ago, and our uncle, Frerin, has taken the throne.”

“He’s a menace!” Kili jumped in, earning another elbow from his brother.

“Our uncle, he’s…Well, to be honest, he’s taken up where Thror left off, and our people are suffering for it. Poverty is at an all time high, and yet mining is at an all time high. There are whispers of revolt amongst the dwarves of Erebor. Assasination attempts have already been made. And not just on our uncle. On us, and our mother as well. They want to see the line of Durin ended, before the gold sickness in our family destroys what is left of our kingdom,” Fili said, twisting his hands together in his lap.

Thorin simply stared at the dwarves seated on his lounge, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly. When he’d left Erebor, Fili was just verging on twenty years old, and Kili was barely fifteen. They’d been but babes the last he’d seen them.

“Dis, my sister, Dis, she is your mother?” he asked, knowing full well he was focusing on the wrong matter at hand, but the politics could wait for just a moment.

“Yes,” Kili said, a small smile on his lips, “She sends her warmest regards and regrets.”

Thorin sucked in a breath as Bilbo finally came into the room with tea, the light clinking of china breaking the otherwise tense energy in the room.

“Bilbo,” the eldest dwarf murmured, causing the hobbit to stop, and glance towards the other, “Bilbo, these are my nephews.”

Fili and Kili shared equally warm smiles as Thorin slid from his seat and moved to wrap an arm around each of the boys, and shaky breath leaving his lungs.

“It’s nice to finally see you again, Uncle,” Fili murmured, returning the hug happily.

“We’ve missed you,” Kili added, half burying his face in his uncle’s hair.

“You’ve grown so much,” Thorin pulled back and regarded both boys with a fond smile, “And I have missed you, as well. Terribly so.”

While the Durin’s were happily reacquainting themselves, Bilbo shuffled over to stand next to Gandalf, a melancholy sort of look on his face.

“Are you not pleased that Thorin has finally reunited with his family?” Gandalf asked, tilting his head to watch the Hobbit and take a cup of tea from the table.

“Of course I am,” Bilbo protested, absently tugging at a loose thread of his waistcoat while he watched the dwarves in his sitting room, “I am always happy whenever Thorin can find a bit of peace. Especially in regards to Erebor.”

“So he’s told you about what happened?”

“Of course. It was startling, of course, to know my intended was an exiled prince, but I love him. I always will love him. I’m just sad to know he will leave me.”

Gandalf arched an eyebrow at the hobbit, setting his now empty cup back on the table. “And what makes you say that?”

Bilbo scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s obvious he’s going to leave, isn’t it? I was listening from the hallway, about his brother and the other dwarves of Erebor. They need him. He must go, for his people.”

Gandalf simply sighed and shook his head slightly. “The foolishness of hobbits, really. What, exactly, says you cannot go with him? Hmm?”

The hobbit paused and sputtered for a moment, before lifting his gaze to stare in mild uncertainty at the wizard. “Do you think I could?”

“What would be stopping you?”

“But, it’s so improper. Adventuring. Makes you late for supper.”

“And?”

“And, I suppose, supper wouldn’t really matter all that much without Thorin, would it?”

“No, I don’t suppose it would.”

While Bilbo and Gandalf had been chatting, Thorin was getting more details about the situation in Erebor from his nephews. And not one bit of it had been good news.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, stepping away from his nephews to address the hobbit, a tiny frown on his face, “I realize this is sudden, and I will not blame you in the least, should you choose to dissolve our current relations. But, I must go back to Erebor. My people need me, and if I do not go, I fear for the life of my family. Please, Bilbo, know that I love you more than all the gold in Erebor, but there is no other choice.”

Bilbo regarded Thorin for a moment, watching as the dwarf shifted slightly, before letting a warm smile settle across his lips.

“I do believe it’s about time I had a proper adventure.”


End file.
